


don't panic

by koedeza



Series: prompts [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death Fic, Gen, Hurt!Sam, but i think it worked a little bit, this turned into something it wasnt supposed to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 11:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17487506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koedeza/pseuds/koedeza
Summary: based on the prompt "sam needs to use a cane"or in which, sam's not who he used to be, and dean's turning into his old man.





	don't panic

**Author's Note:**

> this turned into really emotionless writing but i think that worked-ish soooo whatever  
> Based on a prompt for ohsam on LJ where Sam's leg is fucked up

The prolonged click of his cane on the wood floor resonates through the dark hall. He strides forward with a purpose, even though he knows that now he has none. If need be, he could still fight, could still break someone’s jaw or separate a monsters head from his neck.

That isn’t what Sam does anymore.

The trek to the kitchen could have been made in thirty seconds but now it takes two minutes. Before he even gets there, the smell of coffee is already infiltrating his nostrils, black and burnt like he’s used to.

Dean stands by the coffeepot, pouring the hot beverage into two mugs. One of them is chipped, and Sam pretends not to notice. It’s only when Sam plonks down on a metal stool that Dean turns around. His head must be wrapped up in something else because Sam’s cane is everything but silent.

“Hey! I thought you fell asleep in the library… Was gonna wake you up and-” Dean raises up one of the mugs slightly, walking over and sitting down across from Sam. “And give you some.”

Sam nods and accepts the mug, taking a long slurp out of it. The coffee is burning hot today.

“I woke up in the middle of the night. Went back to my room.” He says, eyeing Dean over the coffee mug. He looks at his brother a second too long and notices everything he always wants to ignore. Tired eyes, dark circles, mouth set in a deep frown, these things are nothing new. If a stranger were to look at them now, they’d probably think they were twins. Sam’s not even thirty yet.

“Mm. Why are you up so early?” Dean asks, avoiding eye contact.

“You’re leaving today,” Sam notes, standing up and heading over to the fridge. He can feel Dean stop behind him, knees no longer bouncing, eyes no longer flicking around the kitchen.

“You weren’t supposed to know about that.” Dean’s tone is dark.

“Oh yeah? Think I wouldn’t find out you were gone? What were you planning on telling me when you came back with its dead body?” Sam snaps, closing the fridge door harder than he means to. He wasn’t even planning on taking anything out anyway.

“Sam.”

“I’m crippled, Dean, not brain dead.”

“I know that.”

“Then stop keeping secrets.” Sam turns and leans against the counter. “What if you went without telling me and it did to you what it did to me?” He nods his head at his mangled leg, limb limp. “What if you didn’t come back at all?”

“You don’t understand, I have to do this.” Dean rubs his eyes and checks his watch.

“God.” Sam stares at the dirty kitchen tile. He’d say he’s disappointed but the sadness creeping into his heart betrays that. “You sound just like Dad. Vying for something that is just gonna end up hurting people.”

Dean doesn’t say anything back for a few minutes, kneading swollen knuckles instead.

“Sammy, that thing hurt you. It ruined your fucking leg, your fucking life-”

“If you ask me, it did me a favor. I’m not putting my fucking neck on the line anymore.” Sam grabs his cane and listens for the difference in sound it produces against the tile. “Pack up the car, I’m going with you.”

Sam hates lying, but he’s gotten awfully good at it.

-x-

In his room, he pops three Advils for the pain.

He gets a duffel packed with only the bare necessities, his laptop, and a book. Without saying a word, Dean comes into his room and takes the duffel along with his own. Sam knows he could manage, even with his bum leg, but he doesn’t say anything either.

Sam’s the first to speak up.

“Where is it?”

“Colorado.”

“Did you bring beer?”

“Yeah. Hand me one will you?”

Sam reaches to the backseat and opens the ugly green cooler, taking two Corona’s and handing one to Dean. The Advil kicks in because halfway through the drive and Sam doesn’t feel a twinge of pain until the stop at a diner for lunch. He has to stretch out and take his time getting out of the Impala. Dean stands by the door and focuses on anything else.

He shifts so his leg is out of the door and sits for a few seconds, sucking in pained breaths as quietly as he can. Piece of shit Advil.

“You take anything for the pain?”

“Didn’t help.” Sam hisses as he gets up and grabs his cane. Dean shuts the door behind him and follows him up to the double doors of the diner. Once, when they were in their early twenties, Dean raced Sam up some stairs and slipped and split his chin open. Sam just laughed and called it karma while he stitched him up in some trashy motel room. Dean insisted on pretending it never happened and the only evidence it ever did was the faint white scar on his chin. There are the razor-sharp marks where the Rougarou closed his jaws on Sam’s leg, and a black cane, but all he and Dean ever do is dance around the fact that it ever happened.

That is until today.

-x-

They eat and then suddenly they’re parked in front of a line of trees.

Sam sits in the passenger seat, wringing his hands. Panic is building up inside him, waiting until it can find its way out. Dean is grabbing a bag of weapons from the trunk, but when he’s done he comes around and opens the passenger door. He crouches down and lets his head hang forward. Sam only stares forward at the menace of the woods, won’t let himself focus on anything else.

“Sam, look at me.”

Sam does because he needs to hear something, follow something before the all-consuming fear wraps its hands around his throat. Dean’s eyes are worried, but there’s a fire Sam used to see in them all the time. He hasn’t seen them since the accident.

“If you smell trouble, you hop in the passenger seat and drive the other way. Doesn’t matter if I’m not in the car, you get the fuck out here, you hear?” Dean’s not asking, he’s giving orders.

“If the Rougarou doesn’t kill me, driving with my left leg will.”

“Sam.”

“Sorry. I’ll go.” He knows all too well he won’t.

“Ok. Ok. Thank you.” Dean sighs with relief and stands up, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans. He nods then turns to go.

Sam latches a hand onto his brother’s wrist before he can leave.

“Dean! Dean,”

Dean stops and turns back, worry lines tight throughout his face.

“Don’t… Don’t die.” Sam says, looking up at him from where he sits. “I mean it.”

“I’m reckless, not brain dead.” Dean smiles, and Sam thinks this is the first time he’s seen him do it in a long while.

“Jerk.” Sam smiles back.

“Bitch.”

-x-

Sam sits in the car with a sawed-off, and in the dark hours of the night, he waits for his brother who’ll never come back.


End file.
